


Right Hand Man

by orphan_account



Series: You've Got A Hunger (I Was Just Like You When I Was Younger) [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Historically Inaccurate Setting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shame kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Son – “</p><p>“Don’t call me son.” Hamilton snaps, hating the curl of arousal that rolls through his stomach when that word falls from Washington’s lips. He knows exactly what Washington means when he says it, and it’s not what Hamilton is feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I promised this a looonnnggg time ago, sorry it's so late, but here is the incredibly fucked up gwash/ham daddy kink, as promised. Seriously, if you have /any/ issues with daddy kink, this is not the fic for you. Somewhat sequel to A Modern Major General, but since these are both PWPs, you don't have to read one to understand the other.
> 
> This is full of historical inaccuracies regarding the sleeping situation during the revolutionary war. They definitely didn't have any beds in the tents, but I wanted Ham bent over a bed, so just set aside your skepticism for a bit please.
> 
> Fun fact: George Washington actually did hate swearing!! He used to have soldiers whipped for it, but it was a little hypocritical, because he was also known for this tremendous bout of swearing when Charles Lee "shit the bed at the battle of Monmouth" as documented in this fantastic quote from Lafayette. “Charming! Delightful! Never have I enjoyed such swearing before or since.” (what a babe)
> 
> Basically, I justify Ham cursing at the end by saying that Washington himself cursed under great stress, and he had already proved his point. Plus, what is dirty talk without swearing?
> 
> Warnings for slut shaming, under-negotiated kink, and Hamilton's daddy issues.
> 
> Enjoy, sinners. :)

“Son – “

“Don’t call me son.” Hamilton snaps, hating the curl of arousal that rolls through his stomach when that word falls from Washington’s lips. He knows exactly what Washington means when he says it, and it’s not what Hamilton is feeling.

Poor, infertile Washington who is so good, all pure intentions and self-sacrifice, who adopts fatherless young men happily, gives them a father figure, who calls Alexander “my boy”, “son”, even “Hammie” – Washington can’t ever know about the things it does to him when he calls him son. Alexander hates himself for the twisting in his gut, the shivers down his spine, the weakness in his knees every time Washington speaks softly to him, or looks at him like he loves him, every time he claps a hand on Alexander’s shoulder – Washington can _never know_ what his small displays of affection do to his young aide-de-camp.

Which is why, when Washington calls him son again, he almost storms out of the tent in frustration. And then Washington sees it.

Hamilton can pinpoint the very moment Washington notices his arousal. Washington has always been able to see him. He was able to see his arousal against the tree that night, and he’s able to see it now.

“Alexander. Son.”

“Sir. Please. I have to go.” Alexander hates himself for the excitement curling down his spine, hates himself for the heat in his cheeks, the weight between his legs.

“No. You don’t. I’m your commander. I decide when you have to go.”

Alexander feels his gut drop, and he backs up as close as he can to the wall of the tent, before his head hits the canvas and he has to stop.

Washington keeps walking towards him, and Alexander lowers his eyes, hating himself for his cowardice. Washington is so much taller than him, and Alexander stares with a single-minded focus at Washington’s boots as he walks towards him. Washington stops in front of him, almost stooped in the small tent, and Alexander looks up slowly, dreading the moment their eyes will meet and Washington will know everything.

When they look into each other’s eyes, he knows Washington knows.

“My boy. You’ve done so well for me so far. You’ve been so good, I’m so proud of you.”

“Sir.”

“What’s my name, son?”

“Father.” Alexander Hamilton hates himself.

Washington tips Alex’s chin up with two fingers and kisses him, lightly, on the lips, barely brushing his skin. “Yes. You’ll call me Father.”

Hamilton kisses him back, the terrifying burn in his stomach intensified by the wrongness of this. Washington’s tongue slides against his lips and Alexander interprets that command easily, opening his mouth, letting the general’s tongue claim his mouth. Sometimes when he lays with Eliza, he sucks her tongue, takes control of the kiss, but with Washington, he knows he has no control. They are not equals. Washington is his authority figure, his father figure (and _fuck_ Hamilton wants him so badly), and so he goes lax into the kiss, lets Washington take him, fuck his mouth with his tongue, surrenders to the aching the general pulls from him so easily.

Washington pulls back, panting, and says harshly, “Strip and get on the bed.”

It’s almost too cold for no clothes, and when Hamilton strips out of his uniform, the cold air against his skin makes everything all the more real, makes Washington’s blue eyes sharper, his warmth and kindness a third presence in the room. Alexander shivers, suddenly covered in gooseflesh, a brilliant mix of sensations that overwhelms him. He sits down on the bed.

“Spread your legs, Alex.”

Alexander leans back on his forearms, lets his legs fall apart, revealing the soft white skin of inner thighs, the heavy weight of his cock against his stomach, all his most sensitive and private parts, on display for the general.

The general who is currently advancing on him, stalking towards him, all quiet strength and kind eyes. He lays one hand on Alexander’s shoulder, warm and fatherly, and another high on his thigh, heavy and claiming. Alexander feels branded, caught between the two. Is Washington his lover or his father figure, or some fucked up conglomeration of both?

And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because Washington drags the hand on his shoulder down his stomach and over his cock, hot grip almost painful on Alexander’s aching dick.

“Fuck, sir, fuck, I – fuck this feels so good.”

“Language, son.”

Alex writhes on the bed, his back arching, his heels catching on the rough canvas floor of the tent. This is so goddamn wrong, he shouldn’t be turned on by this, shouldn’t like hearing Washington tell him to watch his mouth in bed.

And yet, when the general drops to his knees between Alex’s straining thighs, he nearly screams. Washington’s hot mouth on the head of his dick is better than anything he can ever remember feeling, and he releases a foul string of curses, like a sailor or the soldier that Washington won’t let him become.

The general pulls off of him. “I won’t say it again, Alexander. If you swear once more, I’ll be forced to take you over my knee. A good father won’t allow his son to grow up with such a foul mouth.”

 _Jesus Christ_. Alexander knows he’s going to hell, because when Washington says that, that last sentence he cries out, coming all over Washington’s hand and his own belly, in hot spurts, aching and, damn him, cursing. He can’t help it, he really doesn’t mean to, he’s not trying to be spanked, and yet…

When he opens his eyes, the general is looking at him disappointment clear in his face. “Alex, this is not acceptable. Not only do you deliberately disobey me by cursing, you finish without my permission. I’m forced to punish you, or you’ll grow up wild, no honor or discipline. Turn over.”

Hamilton sobs, exhausted from his abrupt, almost impossible orgasm, feeling raw and stripped. “P-please sir, please, I’ll do better, I swear, I just lost control.”

The general smacks him high on his thigh, dangerously close to his cock. “ _Now_ , Alexander.”

Weeping just a bit, Hamilton flips over, bends over the side of the bed, displaying his ass to the general. Washington traces his hand over the curve of one cheek, warm and calming. “Good boy. You’ll learn how to follow instructions soon enough.”

“Now, son, I’m going to hit you ten times. I don’t want to hurt you, but you need a reminder about how to behave. You’ll count all ten strikes, and you will not come until it’s over. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father.”

Washington’s eyes go dark, the first time Alexander calls him father without being prompted. Hamilton shivers, embracing the shame and his gut-wrenching disgust with himself.

Washington’s hand leaves his ass where he’s been stroking, and he draws back and hits his hard across both cheeks; the impact draws a cry from Alexander’s mouth and he writhes on the bed. Washington smiles, waits a moment, and after he’s taken a shaky breath, Alexander says, “One.”

His voice is _wrecked_ , already, after just the one strike, and Washington groans. “Good boy. You’re so fucking responsive, son.” Alexander whimpers.

Two is administered across the sensitive skin on the top of Alexander’s right thigh, which makes him sob. He can feel the creamy skin turning fiery red, burning hot. “Two.”

Three stings lightly across his right ass cheek, a preemptory strike, just warming him up, and then the fourth is across the exact same place, burning hot, almost as hard as Washington can hit him, and Alexander starts crying in earnest. Still he manages to choke out the word, “four.”

Five is softer across his previously untouched left cheek, and six is to the inside of his thigh which makes him scream, partly in fear and pain, partly with desire. “Please, sir, please, father, I need – I need… please, please.” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, doesn’t even know what he wants from Washington, only that he can’t breathe, only that he’s so turned he can’t think straight and he needs something.

Washington’s laugh is just a little sad. “Oh, my son, you’re being so brave. I’m so proud.” He traces his own red handprint, hot on Alexander’s ass, hand warm and heavy, almost paternal except that Alexander is grinding his erection against the bed and shaking and desperate.

Seven, eight, and nine are almost at once, as fast as Washington can apply them, and hard, and Alexander can’t do anything but cry, lets himself really enjoy the pain as it vibrates through the muscle of his ass, rotting in his shame, grinding into the mattress.

“Seven, father, eight, and nine, all done at once, _please_ , father, give me the last one. I want to be good for you.”

On ten, Washington spreads his legs a little further apart, and lets the hardest strike fall directly between his legs, over his hole, and Alexander feels it in his goddamn bones, how hard he’s been hit. He screams.

When he’s recovered enough to focus on the world again, he tries to roll over, get on the mattress. Washington is stripping out of his clothes, and he smiles when he see Alexander looking up at him. “You handled that so well, Alexander. You’re so good for me.” His tone is that of a proud father, and Alexander tries not to let it go to his head.

Instead, unfortunately, it goes to his dick, which twitches approvingly. Washington sees it, and nods. “I’m gonna open you up now, son, and I want you to enjoy, okay? You deserve it.”

Washington settles down on the side of the mattress naked, seemingly impervious to the cold, or maybe warmed up from his previous exertions. He spits on his fingers (there’s hardly a way for them to carry around lubricant in the middle of the war) and strokes his thumb lightly over Alexander’s hole, wetting it.

Alexander sighs, letting the heat and pressure overwhelm him. He feels incredibly sensitive to every touch, but his straining erection is not quite so desperate anymore. He manages to relax a bit, for the minutes it takes Washington to open him up, get three fingers inside him, and then find his prostrate. However, as soon as the general’s fingers curl over the bundle of nerves, all bets are off. Alexander starts whining again, wanting more. Of course, that’s exactly when Washington decides he’s had enough, and pulls his fingers away.

“Father, I need you. Please.” Alexander knows he should just shut up and just let Washington do what he wants, but he just can’t manage it. He never could keep his mouth shut.

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to beg for it.” Washington says, and his smile is cruel.

“Please.” The sound feels torn from his throat and Alexander is crying, tears streaking down his face, his eyes red and swollen. “Father, please. I need you so badly. I want your dick inside me. Let me service you. Let me be what you need. I want you so bad. I need you to, I just, I need everything. I need you to make me your whore. Please.”

He knows the words Washington likes to hear, and even though he can barely think right now, he also knows the things he wants, and they align perfectly with the general’s desires. In fact, when he looks up Washington’s eyes are dark, and as Alex watches, he licks up his palm, and then brings his wet hand down to his thick cock. He jacks himself for a few moments, spreading spit and precome around his shaft, preparing himself. Alexander pants as he watches.

“You look so good when you beg for me, son. Get on your knees.”

Alex drops off the bed and falls onto his knees, lets his mouth fall open, inviting the general to fuck his mouth if he desires. Washington smiles. “No, not that.” He uses two fingers under Alexander’s chin to close his mouth. “I don’t need you to suck me off. I just want you to beg for me. I’m going to jack off and you’re going to watch and use that clever mouth to convince me I should fuck you.”

 _Fuck_ , Alexander thinks, _fuck me._ His whole body clenches, his shoulders tight and the flip of arousal in his stomach is almost violent. The general runs his hand over his dick and groans, looking at Alexander expectantly.

When he can breathe again, he says, “Sir, I don’t know how to put into words the way you make me feel. I am never at a loss for words, never, and I can’t find a way to tell you how much I want you. I can’t figure out how to describe what it does to me when you call me son, when you touch me, oh, Christ, when you spank me, I’m so desperate.” Alexander feels his voice crack, lets himself stare hungrily at the general’s hand on his cock. Washington rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock, twists his wrist, and moans quietly. Alexander is sure the noise is entirely to tease him.

“You undo me with just a look, you could order me onto my knees in front of the entire army and I’d let it happen. I’d let you fuck my mouth in front of the whole military, I’m that gone on you, you’re so hot, I don’t know how to tell you. Please, sir, please, _please_ , father, I _need_ you to fuck me, I’ll die for want of it.”

Washington still doesn’t look convinced and Alexander takes a deep breath before he lets the last words fall from his mouth. “Please fuck me, Daddy.”

Washington stands abruptly, lifts him from the ground and slams him on the bed. He kneels over him, lines up and fucks into him abruptly. “Fuck, boy, that’s so goddamn wrong, you fucking _slut_ , I can’t believe you called me that. You’re such a goddamn whore.”

He fucks him hard, doesn’t bother going slow, doesn’t bother making love. There’s something absolutely filthy about being used like this that makes Alexander’s whole body clench and shake; his gut is tight, and arousal is running burning fingers up his spine, raking it’s fingers through his abdomen. He can’t even breathe, shocked by the intensity of his arousal.

Washington’s eyes are dark and dangerous above him, and he growls dangerously when Alexander clenches his ass around his dick. “You’re such a good boy, Alexander, you’re so good for me, _fuck_ , the way you beg, you’re so goddamn hot. I’m so proud of you, you’re so good, you’re such a good boy, fuck, Alex, fuck, son.” Washington isn’t even speaking real words anymore, just cursing and speaking Alexander’s name like it’s a prayer, and Alexander is crying, feeling the desperate release that comes with being dominated by his daddy.

Washington moans again, leans down to kiss him. “Come for me, baby.”

Alexander does, every muscle in his body clenching, red colors his vision for a moment, and he’s crying, whole body stiff, as he comes and comes, all over his stomach, chest, and after what seems like an impossibly long time he relaxes.

His body is weak, completely devoid of tension, and Washington takes advantage of his relaxation. He’s so goddamn fucked out, and he just lets Washington have his way with him. Washington comes into his loose swollen hole, and Alex feels a sort of aftershock of an orgasm when he feels his daddy’s hot seed fill him up, burning like molten gold, and he moans quietly.

Washington collapses on top of him, and Alexander will never admit but this is his favorite part, when Washington is quiet and relaxed enough to cuddle with him.

“May I stay with you?” he ask, when enough time has passed, and the General’s breathing has slowed. “Do you mind, sir?”

“Please, Alexander. I would enjoy it if you would stay.” The General’s voice is almost formal, as though he is inviting him to stay for dinner and drinks after, instead of in the small bed in a tent in the middle of nowhere after fucking him stupid.

“Thank you, sir.” Washington rolls off of him, and Alexander regrets it momentarily, but the come drying on his stomach is starting to become uncomfortable. Washington lifts a corner of the top blanket from the end of the bed where it won’t affect him when he sleeps, and wipes his stomach with rough wool. Then Washington lifts the blankets up so that Alexander can crawl under. Once he’s settled in the bed, Washington slides in next to him, pushes one arm under him, and, in a moment of bravery, Alexander lets his head rest on Washington’s shoulder.

He’s rewarded when, far from pushing him off, Washington plants a kiss on his hair and whispers, “Thank you.”


End file.
